


Kisses Falling Over Me Like Stars

by hedgerowhag



Series: Our Earthly Time is Sweetening [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Anal Sex, Infant Death, M/M, Mild Gore, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Public Sex, Russian Mythology, Tentacle Sex, Xenophilia, the finale of a witch au no one wanted, this is not as hardcore as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7789555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/pseuds/hedgerowhag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several yards up the plateau, shadows ripple through the firelight. Some are short and slouched, others tall and willowy or broad with irregular limbs. They are all watching something at the centre of the circle of fires arranged by the border of the trees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses Falling Over Me Like Stars

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from [here](http://lawandletters.blogspot.co.uk/2008/05/wednesday-poet-richard-siken-part-ii.html)
> 
> if there are any major mistakes or the prose doesnt seem quite right, please understand i made the final edit of this while sick
> 
> if anyone wants to beat me to death with a brick feel free to find me on [tumblr](http://beeeeebeeee.tumblr.com/)

With summer coming to its peak, the sun rarely touches against the line of the horizon and the night scarcely bruises the sky. Hours still remain before the stars begin to peer while the sky dome turns into a flag of gentle blue streamed with orange and yellow clouds in the west as the pale arch of the moon rises above the trees.

Between the grasslands and the forests of red pine, still lakes sprawl like mirrors, painted bloody by the ever changing sky. Two dark figures travel across the small sandy islands the bridge the loping banks of the lakes, crossing toward the girdle of the forest.

Covering his mouth with his palm, Poe barely stifles a yawn, jostling the small sand-coloured dog that is tucked into the front of his coat. The dog yelps, its white bib pressed into its muzzle.

“Sorry, Bibi,” mutters Poe, scratching between the dog’s pointed ears.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to pause for the day?”

Poe turns around in the saddle and glances at Finn who raises his eyebrows in turn.

“No,” says Poe, turning back to the path, “I’m fine. We should be at the village within an hour.”

“You look like you are about to fall out of the saddle,” Poe hears Finn laugh. “I promise I won’t think less of you if you want to take a break.”

Poe only grumbles under his breath, slumping down and squashing Bibi once more.

With the sky coloured in hazy tones and the air warm like the lapping breath of a hearth, it’s difficult not to think of the comfort of a mattress and feather down quilts. But neither of the travellers can afford themselves to slack with a task still ahead of them.

During the months of winter, a party of men from a secluded village of the forests had gone in the midst of a night to catch a beast that has been preying on the livestock. Come morning, they did not return. Though mournful the villagers had not been surprised for the night those men left a terrible storm rose up, swallowing the land whole in snow.

Months continued to pass and the animals of the farmsteads continued to be slaughtered by some unseen creature.

Not several weeks ago, another small party of men from the settlement had gone to search for the marauding beast. Days passed and they did not return. More people were sent to search for them and yet again no one returned.

At last, in desperation and fear, a messenger was sent from the village to the heart of the country to call for aid from the Tsarina. Upon hearing of the events, the merciful ruler of the land sent out two of her most trusted men – and most worthy soldiers – to investigate what has occurred before she can take further action.

So it has come to be that Poe and Finn have been travelling for several days on the road, trespassing into the unknown depths of the east.

The water rushes around the legs of the horses as they rise from the shallow depth onto the bank of the lake where the moss grows over the sandy soil.

“Here, take Bibi,” says Poe, shifting the reins into one hand as he lifts out the small fluffy mutt. “I think he is getting sick of me.”

Finn’s auburn horse trots up beside Poe’s black mare, close enough for Finn to reach out and take the small dog as it shifts its head this way and that way while hanging mid-air between the horses.

Holding the reins of the bridle in one hand, with the other Finn brings the small dog to the back of the saddle where it hops off. Small paws pattering, Bibi settles at Finn’s back, eyes closing contently as it begins to slowly doze with the sway of the plodding horse under the warm rays of the setting sun.

Shrugging off his coat, Poe wipes the sweat that has gathered on his brow and kicks the black mare into a faster trot as the forest opens around the travellers.

The yellow and orange light of the evening becomes muffled by the rise of the black firs and pines, permitting only the faintest flickering to stream amidst the tall bodies. The air becomes cooled by the shivers of the fleeting breeze – a welcomed respite.

The darkness seems to shimmer under the orange of the sky, shadows being thrown by the constant flickers of the peeking light. Like a lullaby, the faint glow of the sun and the rocking of the horse sends Poe into a sleepy stupor. Every time his back begins to bow he has to blink himself awake, yawning widely until his jaw hurts.

The sudden scrabbling of claws against the leather of the saddle jerks Poe awake.

“Did you hear that?” Finn whispers, staring off into the forest as Bibi pokes his head under Finn’s arm, making small agitated snuffling noises.

“Hear what?” Poe asks but in the same instance he hears the sound that sets Bibi barking – almost tipping from the perch on the saddle.

As faint as the trickle of a river, there is an echo of a ringing bell amid the trees.

Sleep shaken from his head, Poe pulls his horse back by the reins and guides it back as the ferns rustle and shift between the gnarled bodies of the dark pines.

The ringing sounds closer and closer. A faint _clack_ echoes against wood as footsteps thump gently against the soft earth.

Poe reaches for the pommel of his sword and edges the horse to stand between the approaching ringing and Finn.

Light glimpses through the canopy, shifting with the branches and brushing over something white before it disappears out from beneath the sun.

“Who goes there?” Poe calls out.

The ringing falters for a brief moment before crackling through the cool stillness of the forest air once more. A glimpse of colour catches the sun between the pines. Ferns hush and move and out onto the forest road steps a man clothed in white and red, leading on a slack rope a black he-goat with a bell on its collar.

There are only several meagre steps between the travellers and the stranger, and Poe can see how light dances in the man’s long copper hair and the way his pale eyes search both of the riders – curious, but not afraid.

Tilting his head to the side the man hefts up the basket he carries under one arm, filled with peaches and dark purple plums, and smiles up at Poe.

Feeling foolish, Poe quickly snatches his hand back from his sword and sits straighter.

“I apologize, have I frightened you?” the stranger says, his voice sharp and clear like the whistle of the wind on the flatlands of the steppes.

Poe smiles sheepishly. “It is a wild place, can’t be careful enough.”

“Indeed,” says red haired man, his eyes calmly searching across the travellers. The he-goat follows his master’s gaze, turning its head weighed by the curving horns, the slits of its pupils shifting from face to face.

“It’s growing dark,” says the stranger, stepping toward the horses, “and dangerous things go about the woods.”

When footsteps scuff against the hoof roughened soil, only then Poe notices that the man’s feet are bare, the curves of the bones dusted with freckles. His eyes are lifted back up when the stranger cocks his hip, balancing the heavy laden basket under one arm.

“You look tired.” Pale eyes roam over Poe, pausing a little too long on his lips. “Perhaps you would like to rest. My home is not far from here.”

Distantly, Poe hears Finn make a sound akin to chocking. But he takes no notice for his attention is fixated on the smile playing on red lips and how the copper silk of hair brushes against ivory skin. Perhaps for just a moment, he could go and rest, if only just for a moment— No.

“No,” Poe forces himself to say. “I can’t, there is somewhere I must be before the dark. I apologize.”

The smile falters and the pale gaze fleets away. “Then perhaps there is something else I can offer you.”

From within the basket, flushed with the ripeness of pink and orange, a peach is lifted. So full and rounded, it appears to about to burst open from the skin. Cradled in the strangers palm it is offered to Poe.

Taking the fruit, Poe quickly pulls back his hand, but as he does so he feels fingertips stroke against his wrist, lingering on the thundering pulse.

“Taste it,” the stranger urges. “It’s rather sweet.”

Poe looks at the fruit with reluctance but brings it to his lips. Eyes fixed on the smiling stranger, he bites into the flesh and the rivulets of syrup fill his mouth. Flooding over his tongue and teeth, the juice of the peach drips down from his lips, drawing rivers across his chin.

Pulling away the fruit, the sticky trails of the juice run down Poe’s wrist and dripping into the sleeve of his tunic.  

Before him, the stranger draws the tip of his tongue across his own lips and smiles. “May your journey be swift and gentle,” he says and turns away.

With the gentle ringing of the bell the wayfarer crosses the road and disappears in the forest once more, his red hair flashing in the dying rays of the sun. Behind him the he-goat obediently follows, golden eyes glinting unkindly.

Chewing on the mouthful of peach Poe turns back to Finn who is clutching a growling Bibi to his chest. Finn raises both of his eyebrows, mouth open in a wordless question.

“What?” Poe laughs.

“Didn’t you— Didn’t you notice anything?” Finn gasps. The mutt in his arms wrestles itself free and pointedly stares at the shrubs where the stranger disappeared.

“Notice what?” Poe takes another bite of the fruit, curiously watching Finn.

“There was something—” Finn looks at the shadows between the pines and a shiver passes over him though the air is warm. “There was something about that man. It wasn’t right.”

Hearing the fear weariness in Finn’s voice Poe looks at him with concern, the ease lifting from his shoulders.

“Do you say we should follow him?” Poe asks. “Maybe he was connected to what has happened?”

Though it has been only a few short years since Finn appeared amongst the ranks of Rus, mysterious of his origins, with his knowledge and strength he had gained himself respect amongst the people. Not only tactile in the means of the weapons but in the lore of the people and the land, Finn earned uttermost trust from the Tsarina herself.

Therefore, having put his own trust in Finn again and again and every time the decision being proven right, Poe would be no fool to listen to Finn should he show fear or concern.

“I… I am not sure…” Finn mutters with a slight absence in his eyes. “There was something not quite— Right.” He shakes the thoughts away. “Never mind. Let’s just get out of here before the dark.”

The horses are kicked into a brisk gallop and the travellers make haste through the forest that seems to suddenly fill with bird song and the sounds of the running streams as light returns through the receding canopy.

When they finally leave the borders of the forest and escape into the opens pastures, the light casts red from over the horizon, pulling the land into the shadow of the summer night. It is only just enough to catch on the metal objects hanging from the wooden posts of the fences that surround the farmsteads.

“Crosses?” Finn frowns as their pace falters.

“Seems so,” agrees Poe. “I think that it’s more than a wild beast that haunts these people.”

The faces of the saints’ glow scarlet as Poe and Finn approach the gates of the main town. The roads are almost entirely silently and the shutters have been pulled tightly over the windows of the houses. Not even the dogs bark and the travellers look to each other uncertainly.

Suddenly, a door slams somewhere in the village. A voice rises and a glint of a torch bobs between the houses.

Poe dismounts when he sees three people rushing down the main road toward him and Finn.  They halt in front of them, bedraggled and panting, appearing as if they have only just been dragged from their beds.

“Thank goodness you have come,” says an elderly man with a white tangled beard and heavy bruises under his eyes. There is a rosary tangled around the fist that holds aloft a torch. “If you had come—” the man begins to cough, head bowing over. “If you had come any— Any later—”

Poe steps forward and supports the man by the shoulders. “Why? Has something happened?”

“His son’s child…” another man says, an equally gaunt and terrified look on his face under the torch light.

“My granddaughter,” explains the elderly man as he regains his breath. “She was stolen from her mother’s arms while she was sleeping. But she saw something just as she woke up—”

“Show me,” urges Poe. “Show me where it happened.”

The horses are taken from Poe and Finn as they are guided by the small group men toward the edge of the clustered village where only the brief space of grass separates the houses from the forest.

Beneath the overhanging edge of the timber roof, a chair stands and beside it a shawl has been thrown aside – still untouched. All the shutters of the house have been closed. Not a peek of light breaks through the cracks out into the twilight.

“She said that she saw it there,” the old man points to where the stunted, gnarled birches crouch at the feet of the pines, the tall grass tangling with the ferns.

“Has anyone tried to search for the child?” Poe asks.

“No, everyone has been too afraid…” confesses the distraught man. Those who are crowded around look away in shame, seeming to shrink under the firelight.

“You must go after him.” The man grasps Poe by his arm, bony fingers digging into his skin through the tunic.

“ _Him_?” Poe asks, perplexed.

“Yes, _him_. He who stole my granddaughter.” The elder furiously shakes his head, his vicious grasp on Poe tightening. “The man who lives out in the woods. It’s all his doing.”

“You know where he lives?” Poe tries to pull himself free of the deranged clutch

“Yes!” the man cries out. “Some have seen his hiding – a house out in the swamps.”

“Then you must show me the way.”

“I—I—” the man falters, suddenly growing gaunter, the shadows sinking deeper around his eyes.

Poe sighs, resting his hands on his belt. “Never mind, I’ll go.” And so he takes a torch from one of the crowded and turns toward the forest.

“Poe, no—” Finn steps forward after Poe as he leaves the light of the gathered.

“What is it?” Poe turns back, frowning.

“It’s too dangerous, wait till morning,” pleads Finn, taking Poe by the elbow.

Their eyes lock, momentarily and seeing the concern in Finn’s eyes the frustration eases from Poe. Bibi yaps beside them, the dog’s fluffy tail glowing like a little torch of its own in the firelight.

“But morning could be too late,” Poe says. “It’s fine Finn, wait out here. Hear what they have to say.”

A determined, stubborn look appears on Finn’s face that Poe is so familiar with.

“No.” Finn stands straighter and taller. “If you are going, so will I.”

Together they descend down the slope through the tall grass that brushes against their knees. Not hallway to the trees do they make it when Finn and Poe hear the sound of yipping and panting behind them.

Turning, they see a small orange creature barrelling through the grass, coming to bump against Finn’s ankles.

“No Bibi,” scolds Poe. “You will wait out here. We will come back for you, I promise.”

The mutt sits down, its tongue lolling from its mouth and tail wagging – almost the same size as its body.

The travellers move off from where they stood and just as they approach the pines, standing in their shade, they hear the small paws pattering against the ground again.

“Loyal to a fault,” Poe mutters, but does not stop.

The night sounds open around them like the drawn back of curtains. A branch snaps and fir needles brush against one another, whispering secretively in the breeze. Somewhere the forest floor crinkles under the step of something unseen and the ferns rustle in the path of the shifting shadows.

Though there is still light from the sunset, the shadows are deep inside the forest like swimming pools of ink. The torch is but a firefly in the ocean of the dark and Poe shifts it slowly as he brushes aside the ferns before him, looking intently at the earth in the search of footsteps.

“There is no a sign of anything…” mutters Poe. “Not a wolf… even a fox. Nothing that shouldn’t be here.” He sighs. “Let’s just keep going.”

Though tired and worn to the bone, they kept on searching through the forest, listening to the smallest sounds that echo between the trees, halting when the shadows did not shift as they should in the night. Perhaps it has been an hour since they entered the tangled depths and the short summer night has finally closed over the land.

Afraid for what they might find the further they go, Finn urges Poe to turn back. Of course, it is useless.

Though he voices his concern to Poe, Finn cannot tell him why he fears the silence when the air should be filled with the calls of the night birds and soundless shadows edge on the borders of the firelight. He knows what they are searching for and he knows that it will find them before they find it. Still, Finn cannot speak of this.

Though they have grown to be faultlessly loyal to each other, not everything can be brought into knowledge and perhaps Finn regrets it now for it would have saved them both.

To the left of the path trod by the wild creatures, a lake gapes from the earth, painted like a plate of turquoise under the dome of the summer’s night sky that has become casted blue.

Finn presses his shoulder against a pine, slumping as he watches the still water. Even if they find something or not, he will have to call Poe back soon; they are both exhausted from the day’s journey and they will be no use when they speak to the people of the settlement about the disappearances and the slaughters of the animals.

Who knows how much farther they must go, or _even_ where they must go. It’s only sensible to halt this madness while it’s still possible—

The cool surface of a hard shape presses against the base of Finn’s neck. It takes all of his will not to cry out. Ahead of him, Poe and Bibi continue on obliviously.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice hisses behind Finn.

Hearing the words amidst the silence, Poe sharply turns, sword unsheathed in an instance.

“You must turn _back_.”

The pressure increases against Finn’s spine and his breath stills.

“Let go of him!” Poe shouts and steps forward but in the same moment the pressure that was pressed against Finn’s neck shoves him forward. Poe catches him by the arm as Finn spins around.

It is the staff that he notices first, its smooth dark surface glinting in the fire of the torch. Then, the scuffed knuckles of the hands that hold the weapon and the tensed arms covered in tattered sleeves that have been tied off at the elbow where the fabric gave way to wear.

Lastly, the light falls onto the girl’s face, jaw smudged with dirt, cheeks browned by the sun. Her eyes are harsh, burning brightly even in the darkness. Her hair has been tightly bound into a braid, pinned back against her head, appearing careful and neat despite the condition of her clothing; like the sleeves of her shift, the layers of her dress are ripped and stained with crusts of clay. The boots on the girl’s feet are crudely made and scuffed of colour.

“You need to get out of here,” the girl says again. “Bad things walk where you are going.”

“Why? How do you know?” Poe asks, his sword still raised, Bibi growling at his heels.

The girl says nothing, her eyes fleeting between the two men. “You must _go_ ,” she insists again.

“Are you from the village?” Poe presses on.

Again, the girl does not respond but the hold on the staff eases off.

“Do you know these woods?” asks Finn, feeling more at ease once his fears have been dispersed.

“Yes, I do…” the girl cautiously says.

“Then you will know of the man that people speak of. He lives here,” Poe continues, realising Finn’s intention.

“I… I know of him,” the girl agrees uneasily, the end of her staff drops onto the soft soil with a _thump_.

“You know where he lives?”

“I have seen his home.”

“Will you show us the way?” a sudden surge of hope rises in Poe’s voice as he steps forward but he is quickly stopped when the staff is placed again his neck.

“No!” the girl shouts, anger rising on her face.

“Please,” Poe begs, “you must. A child has been stolen from the village and people fear that it was… it was this man.” The sword is now loosely hand in his hand, the point dragging against the earth.

The words of the lost child seem to have no effect on the girl as she bares her teeth and scoffs. “Then you better forget it and get out of here before more harm is done.”

“Please,” Poe attempts again though he knows that it is useless, even Finn appears like he wants to pull him away and do as the stranger has said.

“I said _no_ ,” snaps the girl, echoing her words with the sound of the staff hitting against the ground. “You must leave this forest this instance if you know what is good for you.”

“Why? Why won’t you help us?” insists Poe.

“Just _leave_ ,” the girl commands impatiently, pointing behind here from where the men came.

“We can’t. Not yet.”

“Fools,” the girl spits and turns away. “Both of you.” And then, as quickly as she came, she disappears between the trees where the shadows waver under the dance of the firelight.

The travellers speak amongst each other in hushed voices, glancing back to the thickets between the pines. Seeing nothing, they keep walking, only briefly halting to call back the small mutt that has wandered off, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

“Bibi!” Poe calls and the dog instantly scuttles after him.

As the firelight moves away, disappearing from the view of the lake, somewhere out from the shadows like the huff of a breeze, steps forth the girl.

Leaning on her staff, Rey peers out onto the forest path. Seeing that the men are gone, she sighs and walks out from the darkness.

She should leave them, seeing as they stubbornly refused her well-meaning advice. It will be their own fault should they be stolen away by the kikimaras, the liho or even the rusalkas that Rey saw playing in the water at twilight. The creatures have been forgoing the safety of their dens in excitement for what is due to happen.

Rey had been warned to stay close to the light on this moon, and she had intended to wait out the darkness in the house she had built in the trees, trying not to listen to the wild laughter that is carried by the wind. But for all that she knows that is good for her, Rey breathes the almost soundless words into the summer air as thick as milk.

The forest shudders, the earth quaking underneath Rey’s feet as the rushing waters faltering for the briefest moment and then— It’s like nothing even occurred.

Yet should someone look just a little closer, they would notice that the plants of the forest have been rearranged even if only by a stitch, forming a path for the travellers that they might not notice, but follow nevertheless. However far they will go, however lost they might get, they will still find their way out from the forest out onto the pastures of the village on this trackless path.

The leshy had done the same for Rey when she would go wandering about the forest as a child, always curious and chasing specks of light or flutters of butterfly wings. No matter how tangled her path would get, she would always find her way back to the nook in the old yew, back to the shelter she made after the home she had amongst the people was raided and burned to cinders.

However, though by her command the forest will find the safest path, this does nothing to promise that on their journey the men will not encounter that which might stake claim on their lives. It’s like the snap of lighting, this rise of something uncertain and wild in the air that threatens to take anything that stands in its path. Even the birds have hushed, the bears and the foxes have sought the shelters of the burrows early, deciding not bid their lives for the sake of whatever meagre thing they might find.

Rey should follow in their stead, but she bids ignorance on these warnings and trudges along the path after the travellers. 

For some time Rey walks in the steps of the men, keeping close to the shadows where the light of the torch cannot reach. Whenever it appears to her as if they will follow the unseen tangles leading to the stone porch of the forbidden place, Rey pulls at the threads of the shadows and the wanderers safely turn away.

She knows that they cannot see her, with the night pulled around her like a cloak, but sometimes the younger man with the curious knowing eyes look over his shoulder and Rey thinks that he has seen her. He watches those shadows like he knows what he will see, like he is playing the fool but in truth knows more than appears on the surface.

In spite of Rey’s initial fears and though the woods are in an unusual silence, nothing comes to hinder the slow trudge of the man as they begin to circle back toward the village unawares. Rey’s mind even begins to wander, thinking of the snares she left out, the baskets that she left of mushrooms that need to be sorted and marinated, the fresh patches of berries that need to be visited.

She almost doesn’t notice when the small figure of the orange mutt halts on the path, its muzzle intently pointed toward the forest. Rey nearly stumbles over it, catching herself on the staff while the dog doesn’t even pay her any mind.

The mutt snuffles and sneezes, now too far behind from its owners to be heard. Rey balances on her toes so she does not fall onto the small fluffy beast.

“Come on,” Rey quietly urges, “off you go.”

The dog sneezes again in such a way that beasts like it deem threatening and should scare a slightly larger creature.

“There is nothing there, go on,” Rey hisses again, almost tempted to prod the dog with her staff.

For a moment, it almost seems like the dog has calmed down and is considering following its master then suddenly, like a whiff of a wind on a calm spring day, it tears off from the path.

Rey stares at the dog’s fluffy bobbing tail as it blinks out of existence between the trees. She narrows her eyes, lips scrunched up, before kicking up the dirt and sprinting after the dog.

With growls and smattering of slobber, Bibi ducks under fallen firs and over twisted roots, its hind paws flickering in the dark. The dog runs faster than a rabbit that has just triggered a snare but flipped into the air just in time as its fur was clipped and Rey is forced to reconsider her kindness.

Using the staff to speed her steps, Rey jumps over brooks, the fallen hefts of the pines and tangles of shrubs. Her feet scarcely hit the ground as she launches herself through the forest, the air whistling in her ears as her lungs struggle to keep up with her legs.

The world whisks around Rey like a blur of ink, bubbling with faint uncertain glimmers, her furious eyes focused on the small blur right before her that she can’t quite reach. Rey snaps her hand forward but it only pulls back holding a handful of ferns.

“Come back here!” she shouts, throwing the fistful of plants over her shoulder.

As before, the dog doesn’t listen and instead continues to hurtle itself into the undefined darkness where Rey knows nothing good will be waiting. Perhaps she should just let it be snatched up by some merry hobgoblins that is searching for something to roast on this exciting night, but instead Rey continues to run.

The moon is at its pinnacle height like a running drop of molten gold, glimmering among the stars that shimmer like metal dust. Though used to this type of exertion, Rey is beginning to feel the strain in her legs and the sharp aches in her sides just below the ribs. The dog does not relent.

Rey stabs the end of the staff into the soft ground just before the hulking body of a fallen ancient pine, tucks her legs under herself in a crouch and before she can blink she is on the offer side, staff tucked under her arm.

Throwing herself into a sprint, trying to gather her skirts into a single fistful, Rey continues to chase, the ground gulping and sloshing under her feet, sucking at her boots. Noticing this, fear rises in Rey’s chest; she has gone too far.

Ahead, Bibi darts with determined purpose, seeming to not realise that with every leap its paws sink into black mud to its white underbelly.

Further they run into the forest the further the pines seem to stand apart, allowing larger wells of still water to gather between the mossy islands where the old roots coil and tangle. Nothing seems to hinder the small dog and Rey is forced to simply follow it, fearfully looking around herself as she begins to recognise the path.

As if blown from the ground by the arms of a storm, the pines and the firs abruptly stop, disappearing as a flat expanse of grass opens. Rey catches herself on the edge of the shadows, pressing herself against a fir, and peers out.

The flatland is circled by the forest that stands as if an audience separated from the stage at the centre – a raised platform of rock, large enough to hold a churchyard, covered in sickly looking firs with crooked tops.

Something flickers between the trees and Rey narrows her eyes, leaning out from her shelter. In the same moment, sparks blink aglow atop the rocky protrusion amid field and for a brief moment Rey sees wavering shapes standing between the pines, throwing back shadows of tall figures with long crooked limbs.

Rey gasps and stumbles back. She shouldn’t be here. She should be home, waiting out the night, waiting till the first bells—

A yap echoes across the flat plane and Rey sees Bibi bob up between the grasses. Gritting her teeth, Rey darts from between the trees, feet instantly sinking into the pools of bog water that lie between the humps of the unsteady earth.

Slipping and stumbling, Rey scrambles after the dog that is far too ahead for her to hope to catch. She runs as fast as the ground allows her, pushes herself up with the staff when the swamps take hold of her feet; it’s took dark to see where she is going, or to even hope to know where the solid ground is.

There is another yip and Rey catches the sight of the dog darting up the slope that from one side of the plateau, almost entirely disappearing in the tall grass.

Wrenching herself free of the sucking earth, Rey clings onto the sapling of a pine at the foot of the rock and pushes herself forward, clasping her staff under one arm as she charges up the slope.

She should stop now and simply turn back: she can hear their voices, she can hear the crackling of the fires. But in some regrettable act of stupidity, Rey runs the remaining paces of the slope and launches herself over the last step of the ascent and falls down onto the small dog that stands panting amid the trees.

Rey rolls over onto her back, holding the dog and the staff tightly to her chest. Bibi doesn’t even make a sound as Rey lies shuddering for breath, trying to keep quiet.

Something hushes through the tall grass and Rey almost bites through her tongue. There are chittering voices that pass like the breath of a wind, brushing close by to where Rey lies. They don’t notice her.

The footsteps ebb away and Rey opens her eyes, staring ahead at the stars between the black arms of the pines. Holding the dog tight to her chest, Rey turns over and crouches on her knees, supporting herself on the hand that bears the staff.

Several yards up the plateau, shadows ripple through the firelight. Some are short and slouched, others tall and willowy or broad with irregular limbs. They are all watching something at the centre of the circle of fires arranged by the border of the trees.

Narrowing her eyes, Rey shuffles forward on her hands and knees, coming into a low crouch when she approaches the border of the shadows.

There are creatures… gathered in their masses from every dark hollow of the forests and the grasslands. It is impossible how many there are or _who_ they are for they become lost in the dancing shadows.

Dressed in veils of lace and adornments of flowers, she sees the ruslakas, pale and hollowed like the drownlings that they are. Scuttling like swarms of rats, there are the small goblins of the forest, some like lumps of plant matter heaped together to form small animals. Rotten as if driftwood stand the spectres in decaying armour, holding spears as they watch the centre of the gathering with their hollow eyes.

The others... they hardly resemble anything that can be described: stitched together of foreign, ill-fitting limbs that by no right should be forced together. They bind and bow behind the lines of the gathered, slinking in between the shadows as the firelight catches on their backs before disappearing once more.

One of the shadows dips before Rey and Bibi yelps as she clutches the mutt close. She quickly clamps her hand on the dog’s muzzle before it can make another sound. It goes unnoticed.

There is a reason why the leshy told Rey to remain out of sight tonight: though of the forest and the same whispers that bind Rey and the kind that raised her, these creatures are no like her; they are born of the darker things and malevolent intents that do not seek to live in peace and be forgotten by the outside, but to bend and reign those who are below them.

This is not a place for Rey. She needs to run – escape.

Rey begins to edge away from the circle of the gathered, but the moment she takes a step, a roar rises of inhuman voices. Rey stumbles and halts. The shadows waver around her as the creatures kick in an ecstatic dance.

Suddenly, at the far end, the circle breaks and a group of hunched creatures enters. The fires illuminating their sinewy red hides that shift like liquid with the movements of the wiry muscles. Within the light, their stumped snouts become visible, wet with globby mucus that drips as the bulbous yellow eyes with pinprick pupils roam.

They jump and skitter with excitement, clicking between each other in a tongue that is neither animal nor human. From the shadows Rey can see that they tugging something forth by rope leashes.

Walking out into the circle, the creatures part and in their midst, dressed in white like a gown for wedding, stands a red-haired man who is bound by his wrists and neck. He flinches and cowers when the creatures crowd around him, licking their snouts with red tongues. He tries to pull away and run, but they yank him forth by his tethers, cackling with their clicking voices when the man stumbles – almost falling onto his knees.

They toy with him as they pull him forward, groping the man and pulling at the flimsy fabric that covers his body. Whenever his steps falter, the ropes that are bound around his throat are jerked and the man is choked. Like an animal for slaughter, he is pulled toward the raised slab of rock at the centre of the circle of spectres.

Upon seeing the platform, the man reels and violently pulls, trying desperately to free himself, but instead he falls into the creatures that surround him. Their taloned hands grasp at him as the ropes binding around his wrists and neck are yanked, pulling him onto the rock as he struggles for air.

The man’s back hits the stone as he continues to kick and buck in a useless attempt to escape as hands take hold of his ankles and wrists as he is dragged onto the slab. The moment he is dropped, his bound arms are raised and the ropes are tethered to a rusted ring of steel nailed into the stone above his head.

The victim pulls at the restraints but almost immediately forgoes the thought of them when the skirt of the white shift is thrown off him, revealing his naked body. More than anything, the man brings harm onto himself when he kicks violently as his legs are bent and more lengths of rope are brought forth. His thighs and calves are bound together so that any movement he makes to escape or to even cover himself is no more than desperate fumbles.

Lying prone on the stone, tethered and bound, offered no cover to hide himself from the gathered, the man stares at the faces of the creatures that watch him. He tries to wrench himself free again, but slumps onto the rock, shivers shacking his body.

For a moment nothing happens and not a word is passed through the masses until, like a breath of the night itself, man steps from the circle. Except, he is not a man at all: from face to waist, he appears human, but in the firelight, it is visible that his brow his crowned with horns and where human legs ought to be, there are those of a black goat and a long tail whips against the hooves.

Across his pale skin, lines of charcoal are charted, running from his face that is almost entirely concealed beneath the smudges, to his arms buffeted in black and waist where marks have been clawed on. Eyes watch this creature as he walks through the circle toward the bound victim. His face betrays nothing of his intention as his gaze remain fixed on the writhing limbs of the helpless victim – so desperate to escape.

Then, when only several paces remain between them, the creature halts. Nothing dares to move or breathe – even the fires seem to have fallen into revering silence.

Like sinking ink in the water, the shadows deepen around the stage. They bend and bow unnaturally, swallowing the circle of the audience until all that is visible is the bound figure on the stone altar and the creature that is no longer what he was.

Where once stood the form of a disfigured man, there is only a hollow of darkness – a bound cocoon.

Then, something shifts and the air seems to shiver. Perhaps it is just an illusion of the shadows, but the coiled shapeless presence of blackness grows, its surface boiling with movement. No, it is no illusion for the being now looms above the stone, limbs of innumerable counts uncoiling from its imperceptible body.

The thick tendrils rise, slick like viscous pitch, tasting the air before curling once more in a migrating hypnotic dance. Beneath this coiling, shifting mass, the man lies trembling on the stone, bound legs trying to find purchase on the rock to try and move away from the monster. But it is no use; the ring of metal that holds his arms permits no movement and all he can do is curl in on himself as tightly as he can.

Something drips onto the stone, puddling like oil and glistening in the hazy light. Then it becomes visible, the drops like jewels hanging from the black, slick limbs that hover above the cowering red-haired man.

The liquid continues to drip as the tendrils drift over the victim, tasting the air, and reach out toward the warm body. The man flinches way when the slick appendage touches his left knee, feeling its path across the skin, curling around the ropes that bind the leg in a bent position. A second limb follows suit, locking around the right leg and with a cry of fear from the man, his legs are wrenched apart.

Without further hesitance, limbs stretch out from the writhing body of the monster, thick and dripping with clear fluid. They reach over the space between the man’s legs and slip under the rucked up skirt of the white gown.

The man’s chest hitches when something shifts under his clothing, raising ridges on his stomach, drenching the white cloth until the black appendages are visible beneath, twitching like the body of a leech. Something peeks out from the collars of the dress, caressing the delicate bones of the redhead’s neck before slipping out further and crawling across the convulsing throat.

The two tendrils rise on either side of the man’s neck, seeking across his jaw before hovering over the gasping lips. They linger there, the tips of the limbs, swaying from side to side like the heads of snakes. And then, without a warning, they plunge into the victim’s mouth.

They keep pushing and pushing until the lips are strained from the girth, red and aching. But instead of fear, instead of frantic kicking and garbled screaming, the man moans with delight, leaning back to accommodate the length pushing into his throat. As if strings have been cut, his body relaxes on the stone, back arching with aching pleasure.

Among the crowds, hidden somewhere amid the deep shadows, a single figure stumbles back through the tall grass, legs trembling in fear. Grasping the dog close to her chest, Rey turns and runs, hurtling down the side of the slope of the plateau and onto the midnight marshes. She does not halt or turn back until she has clawed her way through the bogs into depths of the forest, safe from what she had witnessed.

Rey falls down on her knees amid the thickets of the firs, dropping Bibi onto the moss before her. The dog whines and circles around the girl, nudging her with its wet nose.

Rey nods. “I may as well take you the rest of the way. Your master will be worried.”

After a moment, Rey stands back onto her feet, leaning on her staff for support. With stumbling steps, she begins to walk and the dog following her obediently at the heels.

As the girl begins her long journey, somewhere, in the ancient depths of the forests, the shadows continue to dance.

There is a crack in the air as clothing snaps, falling around Hux like tatters of spider webs. He grins and flicks aside his hair, slick from the wetness of the limbs that lavish at his body like licking tongues as they trace his chest and stomach, dipping down to tease at the insides of his thighs.

Hux gasps around the tip of a tendril that curls on his tongue when he feels the cool slickness slip around the base of his cock. He has been aching since the moment he was tied down onto the cold slab, exposed to the surrounding eyes, left like an animal to be devoured by Kylo.

It had all been for the sake of the ceremony: the violation of the innocent by the hands of the evil. But of course, the seed of monstrosity had already been planted within the body of the pure, thus destroying image of God’s perfection.

They are the violation: they are the unholiest treachery in the eyes of the heavens and their binding union will bring destruction onto what hold God has held on earth, shattering the barriers between Hell and this mortal plane.

The arms that hold apart Hux’s legs tighten and he is pulled forth on the stone, hips forced upwards before the heaving mass of coiling flesh. He shivers and whines when he loses the taste of the slick skin on his tongue. But he cannot complain for a moment later a thick arm slips around his waist, coiling thrice before tightening, taking Hux’s freedom to breathe with ease.

Another tendril traces Hux’s back before coming to rest between his shoulder blades and wrapping around his throat, squeezing his neck and making Hux gasp deliciously.

It feels as if Hux has been consumed by the sensation of touch, completely enveloped by cradling arms that feel him, lavish him and leave him starving for more. He whimpers and pleads when he feels the limbs slither down his thighs, slipping down further toward his ass where they lazily trace his entrance.

“I am yours,” whispers Hux, too low for anyone else to hear. “I am yours, take me.” He smiles when he sees the black limbs shiver in the firelight.

The first push is almost gentle, testing, before tenderness dissipates and the girth of the tendril shoves inside without care, spearing Hux open as his head falls back, mouth gaping. It feels violent and Hux is sure he is going to burst at the seams should the limb continue pushing, but he knows that Kylo will not force onto him more than he can take.

There is a moment of stillness that permits Hux to try and relax against the intrusion but the moment he shifts his hips, he feels the girth that spreads him, straining the capacity of his flesh and suddenly, his body falls lax in shock. It is far too much but and not enough all at once. Hux had prepared for this, tested his own body, but nothing warned him of how it will feel in the end.

The limb withdraws and Hux is suddenly empty. His body trembles but before he can steady himself, the girth forces itself back inside him, the slickness that coats it making a vulgar sound as air is slammed out of Hux’s chest. His breath hitches at the second thrust, breaking the moan into a cut off grunt. His entire body rocks with the movements as the limb continues to push into him – every breath incomplete.

The tendril that held Hux by his waist withdraws and he gulps down air with thirst against the collar on his throat until his bound legs are bent toward his chest, exposing him to the creature that is violating his body. He sees the limbs writhing in the air, like they are conspiring amongst each other how to torture Hux, how to wring the pleasure from him until it becomes pain.

Too focused on shimmering flesh of the arms, he does not notice that one that has slipped between his legs. There is a feather light touch against his ass, slipping up the cleft toward the stretched, raw rim where the first limb continues to thrust inside his body.

Once the sheathed limb eases up enough for there to be a loose gap, the second tests the entrance. The tip eases in and suddenly, the length plunges into Hux. He wails, both in pain and overbearing pleasure form being stuffed so full. But the sound does not last because his mouth is filled with two appendages that plunge down into his throat until Hux is struggling to breathe.

The limbs that fill Hux ass shift and twist, thrusting into him in unison, barely able to move from their combined girth. But somehow, they curl inside of Hux and he cries, tears streaking down his cheeks as his body trembles with pleasure. He can feel himself growing fuller as the slickness from the tendrils begins to drips from his entrance, the copious globs dripping down onto the stone with every movement.

However, the assault onto his flesh does not ease away as the appendage around his throat squeezes and the tendrils within his throat thrust down against his whimpers – pain, pleasure, too much all at once as he grows too sensitive.

Hux’s legs are forced further apart, knees almost touching his shoulders as pressure builds against him from every direction. It’s too much, far too much and the darkness is gathering around the two beings at the centre of the circle.

When he looks past the loom of his captor, Hux knows that it is not only pleasure crazed mind that perceives the shifting shadows that cloud the midnight sky through his clouded eyes. He can see the flutters of wings, the sparks of eyes. He can almost hear the chitters of voices that rise together in a cacophony as the walls between the worlds grow thin.

They did it. They have shattered the grip of the heaven’s on this mortal world, even if just for a moment, but it is enough to take the first step.

_They did it_.

Hux whimpers, tears pooling in his eyes flowing down his cheeks, sobs muffled by tendrils that fill his mouth.

A sudden touch, and Hux is keeling over in ecstasy, embers flying in front of his eyes as he is chocked of air.

The pressure holds within him until he is drained, and then, the slick arms withdraw from his body as he shivers.

Hux is suddenly all too empty as he is set down onto the stone, gasping for breath. He wants to curl in on himself, hide in safety from the eyes of the audience. But it is not yet over.

Out from the circle step three figures of the water ghouls, each dresses in the tresses of burial gowns stained with the green of lake bloom. Crowned with white wildflowers, they seem like heavenly spectres.

In the arms of one, there is a curled form of a sleeping infant. It seems to be unaware of what surrounds it as it is held before the chest of a water nymph. The other two flanking figures hold a dagger and a large carved clay bowl.

They stop at the head of the stone slab where Hux lies bound, panting as he forces himself to focus on the three women.

The child is lifted away from the nymph’s chest and gurgles of protest rises in its throat. Held at arm’s reach, it begins to squirm, naked in the night air. The bowl is raised beneath the child and just as a scream starts to form in its infant throat, the third woman steps forward, cradles the child’s head in her palm and raises her other hand, bearing the dagger.

The blade falls down so quickly it could have been scarcely anticipated. It tears through the tender flesh and cracks against the column of the spine, severing the throat before the cry could have been born.

The blood gushes down over the hands of the nymphs as the head falls limp, dripping down in rivulets into the bowl bellow and quickly gathering in a frothing pool. Coated in red, the blade is lifted away and drawn toward the small collar bone where it is pressed down into the flesh to the hilt and dragged down, stretching a red line the length of the infant’s still body.

The blood wells up through that thin line, gathering in fat droplets on the pale, petal soft skin and runs down the mutilated body, pouring into the filling bowl until there are only meagre droplets.

Sloshing over the brim, the bowl is lifted away and carried to the side of the stone slab where Hux’s lax body rests. He watches half dazed as the sickly pale arms of the ghoul lifts the bowl over him.

The first drop hits against Hux’s stomach, and then, the red washes over him, sticky and warm. He gasps when it pours over his face, filling his mouth, catching on his eyelashes and cloying his hair. The pungent smell chokes Hux and the taste causes bile to rise in his throat. He forces himself to swallow down his disgust and hold his breath until there is no more blood to spill.

In a mockery of birth, Hux lies on the stone slab drenched in cooling blood, shivering and helpless, chest heaving as he struggles to remain awake.

This is the final violation of that which is sacred.

 

\- o -

 

Midmorning the sky is blue and pink and ribbed with thin clouds as fog lingers above the dewy grass. The birds sing in the birch trees and the streams run with their chatter, disappearing somewhere in the sun speckled depths of the forest.

Hux wakes to the feeling of warmth and the smell of aged timber that forms the walls of his home. Pulling the quilt to his chin, Hux sighing into the pillow and brings his knees to his chest.

There is a satisfied feeling nestled in his heart that seems to be able to overbear the brightness of any sun. It is as if he is a child again, hardly eleven summer old, and he has torn away the nailed crosses from the walls after he pushed his father onto the fire which was meant for him.

‘The devil’s child,’ his father called him. Always to blame for faults in which he had no hand. Always the one to be cursed for disobedience… lashed until his back ran bloody to rid of the demons beneath his skin.

Driven mad by the whispering of God, his father saw that there is no salvation for his only son except for the fire which will burn the sins out of his flesh.

But that night, it was God that was silenced and hellfire burrowed its hive inside Hux's skin. 

Something yowls outside and Hux opens his eyes.

The door is open and shadows play across the floor. There is soft low laughter and the purring of a cat.

Hux reaches out from underneath the covers and taps his fingers against the frame of the bed. There is a questioning purr and like a ray of sunlight, the ginger cat darts through the doorway and hurtles toward Hux’s hand, rubbing itself against his fingers with brimming affection until it grows tired of Hux's absent minded petting and wanders away in the search of a patch of sun. 

Hux turns away to return to his sleep when the light in the doorway is suddenly shadowed. Looking up, Hux sees Kylo peering at him, eyes wide – worried. His neck is bare and walks on human legs, dressed only in loose trousers. Even the horns and beastly ears are absent from the unruly mess of his hair.

“Have you not slept?” Hux asks, his voice hoarse. 

“I was waiting for you to wake up,” Kylo murmurs.

Hux smiles tiredly and reaches his hand out from beneath the covers. “Come here.”

There is no hesitation when Kylo strides through the house and kneels down before Hux, taking his hand into his own palm. Stroking his thumbs over the knuckles, Kylo kisses the protruding bones in reverence and nuzzles against them with soft sighs. 

“My sweet thing,” Hux whispers with a smile. “You should have slept.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m fine—” Kylo kisses Hux’s hand again. “Are you well?”

“Of course, you were so gentle with me.” With his free hand, Hux reaches out and strokes his fingers through Kylo’s hair – tangled without the habit of maintaining appearance like a wild beast.

Kylo leans into the touch, smiling contently when nails scratch against his scalp as his face goes slack with pleasure. Blinking himself back into awareness from the daze, Kylo returns the gesture and brushes Hux’s hair from his eyes, tucking it behind the ear.

“Do you need anything?” Kylo asks softly, stroking his thumb across Hux’s cheek.

“Some water perhaps.”

Kylo instantly stands and takes a pitcher and cup from the table at the far end of thouse. Pulling quilt around himself, Hux sits up on his haunches and takes the offered cup that has been filled to the brim. He gulps down the water with haste as droplets run down his chin. Once drained, the cup is quickly refilled.

Setting aside the cup after drinking his second fill, Hux is startled to see Kylo kneeling on the floor before him. In his hands, there is a wooden bowl filled with slices of peaches and raspberries.

“What is this?” asks Hux, tipping his chin toward the bowl.

“You hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday evening,” Kylo says in explanation and takes a single slice of fruit and offers it to Hux.

Smiling, Hux ducks down and bites down into the peach, chewing the sweet flesh quickly before taking the rest into his mouth, gently nipping on Kylo’s fingers. A second piece is offered and Hux eats it without hesitance, finally realizing how hungry he has been.

Though Hux has been asleep for many hours, he still feels the exhaustion cling onto his bones and when he shifts on his haunches, his body aches, reminding him of the consequences of the rough use of his flesh.

Before Kylo can give him more of the fruit, Hux pulls up the quilt and says, “come here.”

Kylo glances between Hux and the mattress before clambering up onto the bed, careful not to jostle Hux from where he is sat as he folds his legs – the feeling of human limbs being foreign to Kylo.

With the bowl of fruit between the, Hux pulls the quilt loosely around them, tucking an edge into his lap. “Now, were you trying to take care of me?” he asks.

Heat floods over Kylo’s cheeks as he takes a raspberry between his thumb and finger and presses it to Hux’s lips. Hux eats it while watching curiosity how colour creep across Kylo’s face and to his ears.

They continue like this, sat curled up on the bed as the morning light pours into the house until there is no fruit left for Kylo to feed Hux. He goes to leave the bed and perhaps retrieve more when a hand clasps on the back of Kylo’s neck.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“N-nowhere.”

“As I thought.”

Hux takes the wooden bowl from Kylo’s hands and sets it on the floor. Then, lifting away the quilt, Hux climbs onto Kylo’s lap, naked and bared to the world. But this gives Hux not shame as he wraps his arms around Kylo’s neck and kisses him, sharing the taste of summer fruits on his tongue.

With gentle eagerness Kylo returns the kisses, careful as he places his hands on Hux’s hips, tenderly rubbing his thumbs into the sharp juts of the bones. It is slow and sweet, this exchange of touches, something they both require after the violent destruction of their bodies.

Hux pulls away, brushing his nose against Kylo’s cheek and pressing a soft kiss there. “You must understand,” he whispers, “if there must be someone who stands beside me as the world pulls apart at the seams and hell rises from beneath, it is with you that I wish to witness such glory.”

Kylo raises his eyes, struck silent by Hux’s words. Then, he takes Hux’s face between his hands and kisses him, on the lips, cheeks, nose, forehead, and then lips again, all while pulling him down onto the mattress. They come tumbling down together, tangled in the quilt, ignorant to whatever may surround them.

For now, all that exists is each other’s bodies and their minds as they entangle on this thin thread of a moment in their earthly time. Tomorrow, like any other impending dawn, perhaps there will be no moment for tenderness, perhaps the blood that feeds the earth will be their own, but they will be certain to claw their path to one another even if it means to tear the world apart.

But today, let it be what it is.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
